


Hello and Welcome

by OpensUp4Nobody



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: I'll add tags as they come, Police AU, Prompts Welcome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4939291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpensUp4Nobody/pseuds/OpensUp4Nobody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random yogscast one shots and little bits of things I might write out at a later dates. Mostly gibberish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello and Welcome

The blinding flashes of police lights lit the night as officer Chris Trott ducked under the thin strip of caution tape that separated the crime scene from the outside world. The air was cool, it was late summer and hadn't quite settled down into the chill of fall yet. 

The area around him was closed in, the dead end of an alley; not a particularly fun place to be, especially in light of what had happened there. Now it was as full of police cars and people as it could be. The setting of the crime was rather unfortunate for the officers investigating as there was little in the way of foot traffic and even less in the way of security or cameras. It was really quite the blind spot, criminals had an annoying knack of finding those. The clever ones did anyway, the stupid ones either got lucky or got caught. 

Trott walked quickly toward the huddle of officers beyond the tape. He was late. He had been home when he got the call and had to rush over. Really, he was only a few minutes late because his apartment was not far away, but there was no way it would go unnoticed by his coworkers.

"What is it this time?" the burnet asked as he joined the group. The question was directed to a tall man who was crouching next to a crumpled figure sprawled out across the pavement, presumably the victim. Unless of course someone decided to take a nap on the scene of the crime like some sort of degenerate asshole. 

The man looked up and sneered, "Well, if you'd been here you'd know that, wouldn't you?" Alex Smith spat in his typical aggressive tone. He always had something to be salty about and wasn't afraid to shout it in the face of anyone who happened to be standing in the general vicinity. 

"I wasn't that late," Trott argued lamely, knowing that it wouldn't make a difference. Smith was very proud of the lengths he went to for the purpose of mocking his partner. Berating Trott was one of his favorite past times, something that lead to people finding it hard to believe they worked together at all. They actually did quite well as a team, they'd been friends since high school and under all the teasing was a real bond. Sometimes though, it was a little hard to see. However, when it came time to be serious they functioned professionally even under heavy pressure and probably singing Under Pressure guided by horribly abrasive beat boxing which was provided my the their other close friend. 

"Oh, look who it is," a different voice chimed in as if on queue, "Chris Trott, finally showed up for work." This other man was standing off slightly to the side, waiting for the two officers to get on with their work. Ross, as that was his name, was a crime scene technician, but he hung around with Smith and Trott nearly all the time, so they were a bit of an unofficial trio. 

"Big news," Smith agreed as he stood up to tower over his partner, "Alert the press," he nodded to Ross very seriously. 

"I'll just go get Colin on the blower," Ross snorted sarcastically. 

Despite the mocking tone, Trott couldn't help but groan at the thought of Colin, "God, not Colin. Why are all your friends such weirdos, Ross?"

"It's not all my friends, Trott! Don't group them in with him," Ross sounded horrified that Trott would group anyone with Colin the journalist, despite his choice to stay in contact with him for some ungodly reason. 

"I just don't understand why you continue to talk to him," Trott said, "I'm pretty sure he kidnaps people and turns them into some sort of horrific sex slaves, or makes bath bombs out of human fat or something." That probably wasn't too far from the truth actually, the guy was obviously deranged and very fond of his bath products. 

"He just does such a good job," Ross rationalized, "don't judge him based on his weird fetishes."

"He doesn't though, that's the thing. I don't think he's published half of what you've given him." He always seemed to be too busy in the bath. Trott had never seen him in the flesh, but he imagined him having horribly wrinkly skin.

Ross scowled, turning to face his friend fully. "Alright fine, you want to know why I talk to him, Trott, you little prick?"

"Yes." Trott didn't actually care very much, although part of him did wonder why he listened to the god awful sound of Colin's voice. 

"The truth is, I'm just very lonely." Ross' face dropped and he covered his face with his hands to give a fake little cry. 

"Shut up, Ross," Smith commanded, unmoved by the false tears, "No one likes Trott and you don't hear him wingeing about it." He pointed out. 

"Exactly," Trott agreed, "I always wait until I'm home alone in my shower and then I cry until I can't feel the aching sadness anymore." Trott began to fake cry as well. 

"Not the only thing he does alone in the shower, if you know what I mean," Smith quickly added. 

"Right," Ross agreed, "I forgot he likes shoving shampoo bottles up his ass, doesn't he? You're a sick little man, Chris Trott."

"Excuse me," a blond woman in a suit approached them looking rather cross. "I don't mean to interrupt, but need I remind you that there is a body we're supposed to be looking at?"

"What do you mean, we?" Smith asked indignantly as he turned his ever existing rage onto the blond, "What are you even doing here Hannah?" She wasn't even an officer, she was the defense attorney they worked with most often. She was very good at her job and well liked in the office, not to mention their chief's girlfriend. That last bit may have been an ethics problem, but no one had bothered to check and no one planned on it. 

"I'm here because I happened to be nearby and thought you boys might want the extra hands, sorry," she bit out as she put her hands on her hips. Despite not being an officer, she was very clever and probably could do a great deal to help them out. Not that they would let her when she was giving such an attitude. 

"Oh, look here, we've got ourselves a little try hard." Smith mocked. 

"Yeah, stop being good at your job," Ross added in, "It's not even your job, stop being good at our job."

Hannah gave an exasperated sigh as she began to storm away, "I'm just here to help."

"We've got it," Trott assured, turning toward the body in order to give it an actual proper look. The victim was a man, he didn't looked particularly remarkable. He had been stripped down to his underwear, sprawled on the cold sidewalk face down with a metal bucket over his head. It was a rather odd display. He was decorated with what appeared to be three irregularly placed stab wounds from where the blood had flowed over the ground and dried. He'd been there for a while, that much was obvious. 

"Why's he have a bucket on his head?" the shortest officer asked, feeling the need to bring up the obvious oddity despite the shit he fully expected to get. 

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?" Smith scoffed, "I only know as much as you and that's shit all."

"Alright, alright, I just thought it was weird and felt the need to mention it."

"Yeah, well maybe what you're seeing is actually his head and you're just being racist. Haven't you ever seen a bucket head man, trout?" Smith sniffed. 

"No, I haven't, but that's because they aren't real people!" Chris argued. 

"The fucking nerve of this guy," Smith nudged Ross who shook his head in agreed disgust. 

"Can we be serious here, please? There's a dead man with a bucket on his head." Trott waved an arm at the display. 

"So, what?" Smith wondered. 

Trott stepped back slightly and turned toward Ross, "What happened?"

Ross gave a little shrug, "As far as I can tell, he was approached and stabbed until he fell. There aren't any defensive wounds. It's very precise."

"That doesn't sound good," Trott frowned. It wasn't good for the collecting of evidence and if the criminal was comfortable doing this then they might be inclined to do it again, or maybe it wasn't even their first time. This all had a very serial killer vibe about it. 

"When did the bucket go on his head?" Smith asked. 

"Don't know, we'll have to wait until we move him to see. My guess is that it was put on post mortem, no loud clanking bucket noise." Ross imagined slamming a bucket on someone's head while they were stumbling to the ground seemed a little difficult. 

"I really hope this he left us some evidence," Smith whined. 

"You and me both, mate," Trott nodded to his partner. "Well, there's not much more we can gather without the lab work up."

"I'm on it," Ross said moving forward to start collecting the evidence. Tom, the camera guy, had already been through to photograph the graphic display and the thing was done. 

Trott let out a long sigh as he watched the crime scene technician get down to his work. He felt Smith nudge him. 

"We gotta start canvassing," the tall man said, a touch of weariness coloring his tone. 

"You really think anyone saw something?" It was pretty doubtful given the area the murder had taken place. 

"No, but we have to give it a go." Smith rubbed a hand over his tired face, it was too late for this shit, or maybe it was too early. It was kind of hard to tell. 

Either way he had a point. Trott gave another long sigh, "Right, let's do this. See you at the station, Ross."

"Bye," Ross called back cheerfully. 

As it turned out, no one had seen anything. They spent a lot of time talking in circles with people who didn't know what was going on. A massive waste of time really, but it was all part of the job. With nothing accomplished, they went back to the station to get the rundown from the lab guys—if they were done—and to get a head start on the paperwork. 

The station was relatively empty when they arrived, it was pretty late, or early, everyone was either out doing their job or sleeping at home. Simon was sitting at the front desk looking bored out of his mind when they walked in. He sat up slightly when he caught sight of the two of them, "I heard someone was stabbed and there was something about a bucket."

"Yeah, it was a bloody mess." Smith snorted. 

"Aren't these things usually a bloody mess?" Simon pointed out. 

"They guy was stripped down and had a bucket on his head," Trott elaborated helpfully. 

"Sounds like the a typical night Friday night for Chris Trott," Smith grit out, "Except he pays people to impale him." 

Trott rolled his eyes. 

"What a fucking weird thing to do," Simon mused, talking about the murder and the bucket, not Trott's apparent life choices. "Maybe he was trying to block out alien signals or some shit. Like some sort of crazy mun." They were already referring to the murderer as male for the statistic likelihood of such a crime to be committed by a man over a woman. 

"Who the fuck know," the tallest man in the room sighed, "This guy obviously deranged, hard to say what he were trying to do."

"What he were trying to do?" Trott laughed at the incorrect grammar. 

"Yeah, mate," Smith put on a West Country accent, "I dunno what he were thinkin' when he gave this guy the knock."

"You're not a mind reading farmer?"

"No, I ain't no mind reading farmer. I'm just your typical radish farmer."

"You farm radishes?"

"Yep, best of the best," he was already losing his terrible accent. 

"And what do you do with these radishes?"

"I throw them at people who wander into me land."

"You don't sell them?"

"No, who the fuck likes radishes?" 

"Well, anyway," Simon interrupted, "The lab is done almost done with the autopsy. So, whenever you want to pop in and see them, or just wait for them to call."

Trott nodded his thanks while Smith had already started walking away. The burnet took his seat with a heavy sigh and got out his pen in order to start on their paperwork. 

A forty-five minutes later Smith got a call from Duncan the lab tech. saying that the lab was ready with the body. The two detectives made their way over and into the overly clean, clinical air of the morgue. The body was still out on the table in all its macabre glory. The guy looked asleep. Under that bucket he was very normal looking; short dark hair, pale skin, no real distinguished features. He was rather boring to look at. 

"What's the news then?" Smith asked as he approached the autopsy table. 

"Well, nothing too exciting," Duncan said, flipping through his charts. "Stab wound punctured a lung and he suffocated. That was after maybe two tries, they last was probably just to make sure. He's been dead about eighteen hours, which puts the time of death around one AM. Sjin?" He turned to the other forensic specialist in the room. 

"Thank you, Duncan." Sjin said as if he'd just been given a proper introduction, "The guy was out of his mind on the white stuff," the bearded man informed them with his usual chipper tone. 

"What, he was doing cocaine?" Trott's eyebrows came together in confusion. 

"Yep, I reckon he'd just made a deal for some, he had his wallet and a fairly large baggie full." He motioned toward a table with the man's few possessions. 

"Where did he have that if he was in just his pants?" Trott wondered timidly. 

"They were stuffed in," Duncan made a face to imply where they were stuffed. "The cocaine was, the wallet was just stuffed down the front. 

"By the murderer?"

"Hard to say, it could have been him or could have been post mortem. No trauma though. All of his money was taken or spent, his credit cards were left behind," Duncan added. 

"You think the dealer did it?" Trott asked no one in particular. 

"Hard to say, seems too obvious though for this sort of thing." Smith answered. 

"Don't go looking for zebras," Trott warned, "If it looks like a deal gone bad, then it probably is a deal gone bad."

Smith shrugged, "I'm just saying." 

Trott ignored him, "Is there anything we can do to find this guy who did this?"

"He didn't leave any forensic evidence," Duncan sighed, "Kim says that the bucket could be bought at any Tesco in the country, the knife he used too."

"So, we're hunting a regular Tesco shopper, great."

"Yep, that's about all I can say," Duncan shrugged. "We have the name of our John Doe, the family is coming to ID him later today. His name is Tony." He handed the shorter officer a sheet of paper with the dead man's information on it. 

"Right, we'll look into him," Trott assured. 

Duncan made an unpleasant face, "I hope you catch this guy."

"Yeah, we'll give it a go," Smith sighed. 

"Thanks, guys. See you in a few hours?"

"Yep, we'll be there," Sjin called back cheerfully. 

Everyday, or in most cases, every night after they were released from duty they would go down and have their lunch/breakfast/whatever-you-wanted-to-call-it at the pub of one of their friends. 

The rest of their time on duty passed agonizingly slowly as they were called out to break up a few domestic squabbles and such. They did look into their victim; he was thirty-four years old, lived alone, worked as an artist, and was a clown at children's birthday parties, which was a little creepy. No prior altercations with the law, the cocaine in his system seemed to be the only thing that marked him as not the average mun. Their best shot would be to interview his friends and family, but that would have to wait until they weren't about to die from exhaustion. They were all relieved when they were able to go. 

The pub—Super Bar 3 Million—was open all day, given that is was part restaurant. They were well known for their hot dogs, but they had a pretty amazing breakfast menu as well.

Smith and Trott arrived first, taking a seat up at the bar in order to talk with their friend, the owner. 

"Hey, Sips. How's it going?" Smith greeted. 

"Look around you, Smiffy, there isn't anyone else here. Anytime in not making the big ones, I'm a very sad man." Sips said in an irritated voice, he was slightly older than them and had recently made the choice to cover his balding head. 

"Aw, well we're here now," Trott said soothingly. 

Smith snorted, "Well, I'm here, I'm sure you don't care about Trott."

"Yeah, Trott why don't you go crawling through the dumpsters like a raccoon or whatever you are." Sips jumped in on the Trott abuse band wagon. 

"A human being?"

"That," Smith jabbed a finger in Trott's face, "Is not the face of a normal human being."

The door opened, letting in Sjin and Duncan. 

"Hello, everyone," Duncan said as he took a seat. 

"What's on the menu today, Sipsy?" Sjin asked, leaning forward over the counter. 

"The same thing we have everyday," Sips scoffed. 

"Ooo, I'll have the usual then."

"That right, he wants a big nob in his face," Smith supplied. 

"Only if it's yours, Sipsy," Sjin said flirtatiously. 

"You want that for here or to go?" Sips asked professionally. 

"To go, I think, I'll take it on the way out."

Sips' calm face faltered as he dissolved into laughter, hastily writing down the groups' typical order. 

Smith sat looking bored as there was a lull in conversation. "Trott I'm going to shove a bucket over your head and stab you until you stop moving," he growled. 

Duncan and Sjin let out a few nervous chuckles, the terrible taste in which the joke had been made was much funnier than the actual threat. 

Sips sensed that something was going over his head. "What?" he asked, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"On the other side of the city there was a murder and some guy who was high on cocaine got stabbed, stripped, and had a bucket shoved over his head." Ross supplied having just walked in. 

Sips made a face, "What kind of fucking degenerate goes around killing people and shoving buckets on their domes?"

"The worst kind," Sjin frowned, "I'd like to go nail that mean mother fucker myself."

"Wouldn't we all," Smith said wistfully. 

"I don't even get how someone gets started doing something like this, I mean, what the hell made him take this guy's clothes off and stick a bucket on his head?" Ross sighed in confusion. 

"Maybe it's some sort of fashion statement, he wants to start a trend," Sjin suggested. 

"If he wanted to start a trend, then why would he stab the trendsetter to death?"

"Another fashion statement: everyone looks better dead," Duncan suggested. 

"They look more more alive when they're dead?" Trott snorted. "Maybe it's a humiliation thing."

"If he's trying to humiliate this guy then he's not trying nearly hard enough, I imagine doing way worse things to Trott all the time." Smith rolled his eyes, "Physically and emotionally."

"And sexually," Ross added. 

"Why would he want to humiliate this guy anyway? Why this guy?"

"Doesn't like the druggies?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe it was set up to look like an accident," Sips suggested. 

"What about this makes you think accident? It's a naked man with a bucket on his head."

"Maybe the bucket fell from the sky and hit the guy so hard that all of his clothes fell off and he died." Sips waved a hand as if to paint the scene. 

"Yeah, that's probably it." Trott rolled his eyes. 

"Maybe he was actually abducted by aliens and they just left him out like that because they thought it would be funny." Duncan imagined. 

Ross raised an eyebrow, "Why'd they get him high on cocaine then?"

"Maybe for aliens cocaine is some sort of calming agent," Sips shrugged. 

"Why would aliens carry around cocaine, it's a product that comes from earth." A very logical point by Chris Trott. 

Smith nodded, "That's probably why they showed up, to restock on cocaine."

"Then why'd they come to England instead of South America or where ever they grow cocaine?" Ross wondered. 

The blond lab tech rolled his eyes, "Haven't you ever seen Doctor Who? All aliens come to England when they visit earth and they all speak English." 

Smith made a sound of disgust, "Oh, great, Doctor fucking Who, are we going to get that fucking weirdo to save us all from the cocaine aliens?"

"I think that'd make a pretty good episode," Duncan laughed. 

Sjin giggled, "Can you imagine the Doctor on cocaine?"

"He'd go fucking mental, wouldn't he?" Duncan found the idea very amusing. 

"He's already pretty out of it, he'd probably leave his body or something and that'd be the end of the time lords."

"What a shame that would be," Trott snorted. 

"Alright, can we stop fucking talking about Doctor Who?" Smithy huffed. 

"What's your deal with doctor who, Smiffy? I thought it was illegal to be English and hate doctor who." Sips said, "The queen comes down and fucking punches you in the face if she finds out."

"The Queen can come fucking try it, I'm nimble like-"

"Like a wood elf."

"Yeah, like a wood elf."

"Isn't the queen a werewolf or something though?" Duncan said. 

"Sorry, what?" Trott asked incredulously, "You think the queen is a werewolf?"

"Yeah, she's becomes like a corgi under the full moon or something." Sips supplied. 

"Isn't that an episode of doctor who?" Sjin frowned, "The queen is actually a werewolf and that's the weird blood problems they have, not that they're horribly inbreed."

"That or she was some sort of alien, I think. Maybe the queen abducted this guy."

"Yeah, that's probably it."

"Are you guys going to order anything or what?" He'd already written down what they wanted but he felt the need to shout at them a bit. 

"Just bring us the usual," Duncan requested. 

"Yeah, okay. Hey, Turps," Sips called back into the kitchen. "The guys are here and they want the usual."

"Coming right up!" Turps called back. 

The usual happened to be an array of variously topped hot dogs. 

"So, what's been going on other than this bucket guy?" Sips asked. 

"Not much, it's been pretty boring other than that." Sjin sighed. 

"Yeah, this is the most exciting thing we've had in a while," Ross agreed. 

"Whose been assigned the case?"

"Trott and I were first on the scene, so probably us," Smith said, "Unless Lewis decides he wants someone else."

"Someone less shit?"

"Psh, who's less shit than us in that building?"

"Well-"

"No one, that's who."

"Oh, yeah, who the fuck was it that died anyway?" Sips wanted to know. 

"Some guy named Tony who worked as like a party clown or something."

"I know that guy! He comes in here with his friend all the time, really loves my hot dogs. Shit, why couldn't this guy pick someone who wasn't one of my customers?" Sips complained. 

"What was he like?"

"He was alright, came in wearing clown make up a lot, which was pretty weird. You said he was high on cocaine? Should have expected, he went around sniffing a little too much."

"Well, he's dead now," Smith spat, "so no more feeding clowns for you."

"Aw, shit." Sips sighed as another set of customers came in and were to be set up. 

The time the group spent eating food and chatting was good fun, they were all slightly slap happy from the lack of sleep but that only made everything four times funnier. When they finally went their separate ways, each of them went to their respective homes and collapsed into bed only hours before their next shift would be starting. 

XxxX

The investigation progressed at the pace of a slug, or so it seemed. They followed up on a few things here and there, but there really wasn't much to go on. The next body came eight days after the first had. 

The location was similar, secluded and in a back alley but in another part of the city. The body looked about the same in its display, but with only two stab wounds and the victim was a woman. 

"Fucking hell, not another one," Smiffy groaned as he looked down at the dead woman. 

"It's not a serial killer until they do three, I think," Trott frowned, hopefully they wouldn't let the body count get to three. 

Alex was not at all consoled by this information, "Great, I've never dealt with a serial killer before."

"Neither have I, at least he's not a fucking cannibal or some shit. Hanging out gobbling up dead people." Smith watched as Ross was starting to gather data on the crime scene. 

"Yeah, I don't think I could handle Hannibal Lecter prancing around through Bristol," Trott agreed walking closer to the body. 

"Stalking people through the streets like some sort of horrible goblin."

"A nob gobbling hobgoblin."

"From what I've heard recently about him, you're not far off there."

Trott didn't know what he was talking about so he changed the subject, "What do you think they'll name this guy?"

"I don't know, sometimes they have really stupid names."

"I'd be pretty pissed if I went around killing people and they gave me a shitty name."

"Would Mr. Stabby be a good serial killer name?"

"I quite like it, it makes me smile and I want people to smile while I murder their family members."

"Jesus Christ, are you sure you're not the guy we're looking for?" Part of him wouldn't be all that surprised to find that Smith was the one behind this. 

"Do I look like the sort of person who strips and murders people, topping them off with a lovely bucket?"

"You might, like I said: I've never dealt with a serial killer before."

"Well, I defiantly didn't do it."

"That's very reassuring."

Ross approached, "It's pretty much the same deal as last time," he sighed. 

"Fucking fantastic."

They didn't learn anything new from this victim, she was high on cocaine, but she was it no way related to the other guy. No one had seen anything unusual so everyone returned to the station with good time. When the techs were done going over everything, they managed to get a few partial finger prints off the bucket. Enough to find a match, but when they ran the prints there was nothing in the data base to match them to. At least they had something to go on. 

Lewis called a meeting when everyone was back. 

He stood in the front of the conference room looking rather unhappy. When everyone was in, he began to speak, "Alright, Hello everyone," he began, "And welcome to the meeting. So, we are here about this bucket murderer guy. There have been two victims already and I don't want there to be a third which is why I'm assigning this case to Trott and Smith as a top priority. Simon and Kim are in charge of going after cocaine dealers to see if they know anything. Everyone else should be on alert. I want this sorted out. Any questions?"

There were no questions, the meeting was only a formality, a formal statement that this was at the top of their list although they'd already anticipate that and were accordingly. With no questions asked and no information gained, they all went back to work. 

Over the next few days, Kim and Simon brought in a few dealers. One said he knew the guy, not the woman. Nothing panned out, he was on camera entering his apartment at the time of the first murder. 

They had arrested him for possession, he was new to the game and had a rather clean slate. They managed to scare him enough to get a little information on some of the other dealers, not that it helped the investigation much.

The next body came two weeks after this incident. It was another woman with three stab wounds. They we're officially dealing with a serial killer. They let the media know and were not wholly prepared for the wave of freaked out peopled they stirred up. The best they could do was to give them the information they needed and try even harder to catch this guy. The people in the city started referring to the murderer as The Bucket Murderer. It wasn't very creative but it said what truth it needed and the people were terrified. 

The fourth body came only four days after the third. This one with a bucket on the ass of the male victim instead of the head. He looked like a snail with his face pressed into the pavement. 

"He'd just being lazy now," Ross frowned at the bucket's placement. 

"You just don't understand, Ross," Smith said, "it takes so much effort to crown someone with a bucket, it's much easier to perch it on their ass."

"I'm just saying that it's not very classy and reflects poor taste and loose morals."

"Oh no, not a serial killer with loose morals," Trott mumbled. 

"That's not the only think that's loose," Smith said. 

Trott made a face, not sure if Smith was talking about him or the murderer. He was so used to it being him that sometimes he just always assumed that smith was saying terrible things about him. 

From then on there was a body once a week for three weeks. Some had buckets on the heads, some on the asses, but there was always a bucket involved somehow. 

On the fourth week, it was late when they got the call, everyone had been anticipating it. Another body had been found and this one was a little different. 

"Jesus Christ," Trott breathed as he looked down at the body of yet another victim. This one had been stabbed more times that he'd like to guess. 

"Must have had a bad day," Smith reasoned. 

"This isn't a good sign." The sight of the mutilated body made Trott's stomach lurch, but he fought to keep his composure.

"Overkill's never a good sign, mate," Ross frowned at the body, giving a shrug.

"I don't see how you can be all calm about this," Tortt scowled at Ross's relatively unaffected attitude.

"I'm desensitized, mate. I've cleaned up too many splattered people. They're all like crushed flies now."

Smith made the sound he thought a fly would make while it was being crushed. 

Trott ignored the horrible sound his friend had made, "Fuck, I hope he doesn't go on a spree."

"Hopefully he got sloppy," the tallest of the bunch chimed in. 

"If there's anything, I'll find it," Ross assured, kneeling down beside the body. 

"No witnesses I assume?" 

"Nah, you know the drill."

They did know the drill and they came away with no new information. 

XxxX

"Another one, Sips," Trott complained as the group sat in Super Bar 3 Million. 

"Another one?" Sips blinked, "When the hell does this guy have time for all this?"

"I wish I had as much time as he probably does," Smith complained. 

"Isn't stabbing supposed to be an impudence thing?" Trott wondered not for the first time, "Maybe he can't get it up and that's why he's so mad at these people."

"You think he's attracted to people who do cocaine? That's a weirdly specific thing to like."

"People have been attracted to stranger things."

"Like Trott?" Sips asked. 

"Of course not, no one's attracted to Trott," smith snorted. 

"I don't know, Smith, you're always talking about ravishing his horrible walrus body," Ross pointed out. 

"Yeah, but I threaten to do it out of aggression, not lust."

"That's even more horrible," Trott whined. 

"Shut up, Trott, you fucking twat."

"You guys are so mean to me."

"It's our job, mate." Smith gave him a hard thump on the back. 

XxxX

There was another body three days later that reverted back to the usual set up with an added touch. 

"The fuck?" Trott said as he looked down at the crime scene. He'd expected another scene with overkill, but instead there was the familiar, less bloody scene with a message written in blood off to the side reading: Fuck off. 

"Well, that's not very nice," Smith laughed. 

"What the hell did we do to deserve this sort of treatment?" Trott asked in exasperation. 

"Maybe he's not talking to us, we haven't done anything," Ross suggested. 

"We're trying to bring him in for murder, aren't we?" Trott pointed out. 

"Yeah, but it's nothing personal. If that's why, then he shouldn't be so sensitive." Smith couldn't stand it when people were too sensitive. He'd forced Trott out of any sensitivity. 

"Maybe he's a sensitive guy, ever think of that?" Ross grit out. 

"I just wish he had better handwriting, this is terrible." Trott motioned to the scrawled writing. 

"It's hard to write in blood, Trott."

"Right, sorry."

Yet again, they found nothing helpful from the crime scene. And the next few bodies switched between overkill and not, all with an array of profanity around the body. 

Their first big break was when they found a body within walking distance of Sips' pub. The murder had actually been reported my Turps, who had been on his marry way home when he stumbled across it. 

This body gave them forensic evidence. He hadn't been high on cocaine, he'd been blind drunk and stumbling through the street. Turps had said that he'd been at the pub until he got to be too obnoxious and Sips threw him out. Then Sips had disappeared for some period of time. That did not bode well. Reluctantly and with a terrible sinking feeling inside, Trott and Smith paid the bar a visit in order to have a chat with Sips. 

"Hey, Sips," Trott greeted their friend who sat at the bar, grinning as he noticed his friends. 

"Hey, guys," he tipped an empty glass to them in greeting. 

"So, this is a little awkward," Trott started, "But there was a murder not far from here, so we need to ask if you've seen anything suspicious."

"Is it the bucket guy again?"

"Yeah, did you see anything?"

"Nope, nothing."

"Where were you at the time? Turps said you were out," Trott said. 

"I wanted to go get some ice cream from the store, but they were closed." Sips shrugged. 

"You decided you randomly wanted ice cream in the middle of the night?" Smith asked a little incredulously. 

"Yep, I'm secretly a pregnant lady."

"Which place did you go to?"

"It's down the road, about half a kilometer from here."

"We'll try to validate your story," Tortt told him, "but for now you're going to have to come with us."

Sips looked very unhappy, "What the hell, guys, I'm seriously a suspect?"

"Come one, Sips, we're just doing our job. Don't make us arrest you."

Sips looked like he still wanted to argue but anything he said would be taken against him and if he tried to run he'd only look more guilty. "Fine, but this is total bullshit."

They took their friend reluctantly into the station. There was a nervous energy all through the office as they brought him in. Despite wanting to nail this guy, they really didn't want to nail Sips. It would be too horrible. 

As it turned out, they could not back up Sips' story, the store he listed had no evidence he'd ever been there. They tracked him by street camera and he disappeared into the city for a period of time before reemerging after the murder would have taken place. Very not good, they had to interrogate but they took his fingerprints to see if he was a match to the ones they had. 

"Why'd you do it, Sips?" Trott sighed. 

"I didn't do shit," Sips huffed. 

"Then where were you?"

"None of your fucking business."

"You're not doing anything to help yourself," Alex shook his head, "If you did it, we'll know in a little while, we have your prints."

"I can't believe you think I did this."

"Trust me, we don't want to believe this."

"We're the anti-Fox Mulder over here." 

"Well, I didn't do it."

"Sips, we need evidence," Trott pleaded. 

"We need to know that you weren't off stabbing someone a million times in the chest. Jesus, just think about the families of all those people. What would possess someone to do something like that?" 

"Like I said, probably impudence," Trott repeated.

"So then, Sips, can you not get a stiffy? Happens to the best of us, I don't think going all stab crazy on someone's ass is going to help but I guess whatever works."

Sips didn't say anything, he just let out an angry huff as his two friends went on antagonizing him. After half an hour of that the results came back on the prints, they were a match. The world seemed to tilt as they looked up from the paper to the face of their friend. 

"If didn't fucking do all of them," Sips said in defeat. 

"Not all of them?" Trott's stomach dropped. That would mean there was someone else out there. 

"What do you mean?" Smith insisted. 

"I didn't fucking stab those people a thousand times, I did the first ones and all the ones that didn't have the overkill. I wrote the messages to try to get the other guy to fuck off and stop copying me, I couldn't think of a better way to get the word across."

"But you did do the other ones?" Trott wanted to be absolutely sure. Sips had yet to call for a lawyer so it was best to try to get him now with a confession as much as he hated this situation. 

"You knows what, fuck it. Yeah, I did it and I'm sick of this other guy pretending to be me. It's fucking bullshit."

"Can you prove that it wasn't you?"

"Yeah, I was busy murdering a guy down the road when I was lying about getting ice cream, I don't think you've found him yet."

"We haven't."

Sips gave them the address and they found the body.

"So, if Sips did this..." Trott trailed off, his face pale while he thought about how he could have seen this coming somehow. He wasn't sure exactly how he would have seen it but his mind assured him that there must have been some way. 

"Then he wasn't doing the other ones," Smith finished, his mind cycling similar thoughts. 

"What are you guys going to do now?" Ross wondered at their side looking just the same as he always did in the middle of something that looked somehow different. The crime scene looked changer knowing who had set it up. 

"Look for this copy cat, I guess," Trott rubbed a weary hand over his face. "Jesus, I can't believe Sips did this."

They let that statement hang in the air before Smith and Trott went back to the station. Sips would be processes and dealt with accordingly. He'd probably get a life sentence unless he made some sort of plea bargain, that is if he had anything to bargain with at all. Turps would probably take over the pub, this situation must have been even stranger for him. 

Back at the station Sips was signing a confession, seemingly uncaring now. 

"So what did posses you to set it up like this?" Trott asked numbly. 

Sips shrugged, "It just felt like the right thing to do." And that was all he had to say about that. 

XxxX

Ross Hornby left Sips' crime scene, went back to the station and checked out for the night, and set off for home. It had been a very exciting night indeed. He walked one step at a time down an empty alleyway. It was dangerous to walk out here alone at night, but Ross was confident in his abilities. He had his hand around the grip of a little stake knife that he kept in his lunchbox. It was the same sort Sips had used, he'd picked it because of that. He could hear someone walking toward him, ever closer, sniffling as he walked. Ross knew this scenario well. The man walked right next to Ross, making an attempt to pass along when the knife was drawn and ended up in the man's chest. 

"Eat shit!" the crime scene technician exclaimed as he thrust the knife into the already bleeding body. The first shout was loud, the repeating of the phrase was done under his breath just in case someone happened to hear him shouting. 

He wasn't sure how many times he stabbed the man or why exactly he did it, it just made him feel good so he did. He expected that a psychiatrist would find some deeper issue but he didn't care enough to consider it. He was glad he'd started doing this. It hadn't been his first time when all this started, he'd been doing this since university. The murders Sips did just gave him the confidence to set up a scene. It was much more fun to work his own crime scene and watch his friends fuss over it. 

With a dead and bleeding body on the ground, Ross moved away, wiping the knife on the man's shirt and putting it ways. There wasn't any point in setting up the scene as a reflection of Sips' now that they'd caught him, and he didn't have any buckets anyway. 

He gave the body one last look and smiled. Yes, doing this made him very happy and he hoped that no one would ruin his fun, especially not one of his very close friends. He would hate to have to kill them. 

XxxX

A/N: I've wanted to write something yogscast for a while for some reason, I've never even read a yogscast fanfiction XD So anyway, I'm doing it now. I didn't realize how difficult it was to write in the tone of hat films. Was going to make it longer but then I didn't want to, so this is more an outline than an actual story and it's super super half assed as you can probably tell by the lack of banter. The idea was sort of sparked from that coke fiend video Hat Films did and obviously Sips' Skyrim lets play. 

I'm also just a silly American who knows nothing of how the British police system works, so let us pretend that in this universe me it works how I say it does. 

Also, I kind of just want to do prompts and stuff so that what this mess will be. if you had a prompt feel free to request it here or on tumblr or I suppose anywhere else if you can find me :) No smut pls, pairing are fine though ;) I haven't watched every series but I've seen a lot and I'll do my best. 

Tumblr: opens-up-4-nobody 

Thanks.


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